


High Noon

by starkind



Series: Through the Ages [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Western, Crossover Pairings, Explosives, Gen, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Horseback Riding, M/M, Sabotage, Same Performer in Different Roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9554777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: Wealthy industrialist Anthony Stark has made a lot of enemies. What he needs is someone he can entrust both his money and his life with.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just something that kind of fits into this 'time-traveling' series. I know nothing/not much about the true age of the Wild West, so please take all of this with a grain of salt :)

“Heard he's arrived in Los Angeles last night.”  
“Who has?”  
“The Black Rider, bossman.”

“That vigilante from Gotham City?  
“Some consider him a vigilante, others an outlaw. In any case, he'd surely be lookin for work.”  
“And that should tell me what exactly?”

“You might wanna go and offer him a job.”  
“By Gum! For what, Hogan?”  
“Protection, bossman.”

“Why Happy, are you saying I ain't able to defeat myself?”  
“I'm just sayin, all those people you managed to piss off are starting to go above your bend.”

It was the year 1869. Southern California’s first railroad had just been constructed, connecting downtown Los Angeles with San Pedro Bay, 21 miles away. Anthony Edward Stark; age 35 and the city's most well-known local businessman, was reaping the benefits of it.

As the sole owner of Stark Steel Company, he not only ran an established business -making a fortune from extracting iron and ore out of mines all over the west coast- but he was also a more than smart miner and inventor.

After witnessing the grisly outcome of many untimely falls by transport elevators, Stark had patented a new safety brake mechanism that was put on elevators across mining country, as well as in the increasingly tall buildings across the steadily-growing United States.

He was of medium height, had a head full of thick, dark hair he usually wore neatly combed back, and a well-groomed goatee to match his overall wealthy, outward appearance. Right there and then, his expressive brown eyes started to look the slightest bit annoyed. “Stop being an addle-pot, Hap. I can take care of those bad eggs. Plus, Rogers said he'll keep an eye out as well.”

His personal assistant and right-hand man Harold Hogan, called 'Happy' because of his anything-but facial expression, nevertheless remained grumpy. “The Marshal's not gonna be 'round the whole time. Ask no adds there, he's gotta lot to do.” Anthony leaned back in his creaking chair, fingered the golden chain of his pocket watch, and looked pensive for a second.

“Ah, if it really means so much to you, Hap, go on, seek him out. If only for getting to know the Gotham gunslinger alive and in person at least once – before he's gonna bite the ground for good sometime soon.”

* * *

"Well, he does live up to his name, doesn't he.”  
  
Anthony Stark's voice, albeit hushed, held a tinge of amusement. He and Hogan stood outside the Los Angeles Plaza and watched their appointment ride into town. From the tall and athletic thoroughbred over to his boots and clothes, the Black Rider displayed a solid front of non-color; a strong contrast to the bright sand to his feet and the sun in the sky

He wore an almost dramatic, long frock coat in black; one that was great for hiding a shotgun, Stark mused, and also one that was long enough to get a dusty hem. It wafted in the wind around the man's silhouette as he descended from his horse and made his way over to them. The man wore no spurs, Anthony noticed - in fact, he seemed to move completely soundless.

His face was hidden underneath a black felt hat and an equally black scarf that was drawn up over his nose, thus obscuring everything but his eyes.

“Howdy, Rider.”  
No outward reaction followed Anthony's breezy greeting as they stood and faced each other.  
“You must be the one they call Iron Man.”  
  
The voice was gruff and more of a growl than anything. Stark's grin did not waver.  
“Anthony, but you can call me Tony.”  
Next to him, Hogan started ever so slightly. The Black Rider instantly had his eyes on him.  
  
Stark made a haphazard gesture. “This is Harold Hogan, or Happy for short. He's my assistant and a very concerned person. That includes meeting gentlemen looking like bandits. Would you mind...” he made a pulling gesture at his own chin, urging the stranger to lower his bandana. The man dressed in black and Hogan were still sizing each other up. Eventually, the Rider complied, albeit in slow motion.

Soon enough, a man of young age stared back at them, not older than his late twenties, and Anthony found himself lingering, suddenly mesmerized. When the other man noticed his gaze, he deliberately held it. He had high-set cheekbones, a sharp nose, and a light-brown, slightly ginger mustache with matching chin beard. His pale, pinkish lips then curled in disdain. “I don't discuss business out on the streets.”  
  
Shaking himself out of a stupor, Stark nodded emphatically and pointed across the road. “So let's head over to the Pioneer.” Wordless, the Rider broke their ongoing eye contact and began to walk in the designated direction. As Hogan also set off, Anthony stopped him with a pat on the stomach. “Go back to the office, Hap, I got this.” Hogan's beady eyes looked skeptical as he wiped his sweaty face.   
  
“You sure, bossman? He seems somewhat between hay n grass.”   
Squinting through the harsh, midday sun at the dark clad man's back, he nodded.  
“Very sure.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... now with added Western lingo, courtesy of http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-slang.html
> 
> By Gum! - An inoffensive oath  
> Above one's bend - Out of one's power, beyond reach  
> Addle-pot - Spoilsport  
> Bad eggs - Bad people  
> Ask no adds - Ask no favor  
> Bite the ground - To be killed  
> Between hay and grass - Neither man nor boy, half-grown


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this didn't feel right as a one shot, here goes another chapter.. once again, western lingo explained at the end

They took a seat at the far end of the bar at the Pioneer. It was a place Tony preferred most when doing business or leading important conversations. The saloon's owner, a feisty and liberated woman by the name of Natalie Rushman, cast them a curious glance. “Who's ya friend, Anthony?” While the Rider remained silent and impassive, Stark put up an important looking face.

“My own, personal security guard, Nat, my li'l sweet dove. What'cha say to that? Impressed?”

Natalie eyed the stranger in his black outfit again. “He better not be makin a hassle round my place. Got enough o'that from you, blatherskite.” Both men stared after her swaying bum clad in dark red satin as she left. Tony smirked. “Black Widow loves to get herself into and out of all sorts of trouble. Ya won't find a single male customer 'round here who doesn't revere her or Pepper.”

Anthony then winked at the other redheaded woman behind the bar. “Ain't that right, my lovely avenging angels?” Virginia Pepper Potts threw him an airy kiss before she continued to rub the pewters and clean glasses. Focusing back on his guest, Anthony spread his arms and slapped his hands onto the bar. “You must be banded after that long ride.” Tony caught his favorite barmaid's attention.  
  
“Hey Pep, be a doll and get us two shots of bourbon and some chow. One of them pies'd be great.” Unwavering hazel eyes fixated him. “I don't drink.” Tony hesitated for a split second, then grinned. “So all you're gonna get 'round here is some black water or cow juice.” When the other man chose the first, Tony passed the order on to the woman behind the long paneled, oaken bar and focused back on his opposite.

“I'm gonna speak with real looseness here now: Hiring you hasn't been my idea to begin with.”  
The Black Rider curled his bottom lip slightly, almost like in a petulant pout.  
“Then why are we sitting here wasting my time?”

Their conversation stopped briefly when the pretty young redhead served their orders. “You're far too green to act like an old croaker. I've changed my mind, and I'll pay good chink.” Stark's well-trimmed goatee moved as he smirked and sipped his drink. The Rider raised an eyebrow. “Do you now.” He did not make a move to touch the food, so Tony helped himself.

“Yup. I'm pretty landed as you prolly know. And this job might even help with ya reputation.” Those hazel eyes instantly narrowed. “What's that supposed to mean?” Smacking his lips, Stark chewed openly with a mouth full of pie, waving his fork about. “Don't get yer back up, Rider. Word's traveled far on how Gotham City cut you up.” Despite not wanting to, a small snort escaped the younger man's half-closed lips.

“It ain't hard t'see why you got yer so many enemies.”

“Because of my fortune ya mean.”

“Because of your cocky attitude.”  
  
At that, Anthony Stark thumped a fist onto the bar and all but howled out loud with laughter.

“Neat. Nobody ever dares to flap their mouths at me like that. So, are we havin a deal?”

“$100. $50 in advance.”

“Fair trade. Come to my office on town square after 6 pm, and I'll get you the money.”

* * *

It was dark when a knock on the door woke Anthony from his books at 6 o'clock sharp.  
A cautious glance around the curtain revealed a dark silhouette.  
In the dim light of the outside gas light on the wall, two intense eyes stared back at him.

“Open up.”

At the gruff command, Tony unlocked the door and let the man in. He was still dressed in his earlier getup but drew the bandana down as soon as the door was closed behind them. “C'mon in, office's that way.” Tony walked in first, revealing a posh interior with dark, heavy furniture, many framed paintings on the walls, and a huge desk close to the window front.

The Black Rider skimmed across the many books and papers. The inventor waved a hand about. “Happy does most of the managing, regarding the production and distribution of Stark inventions. He's just bad with keeping the place tidy.” Tony then brushed the documents aside and motioned for his guest to take a seat. “I'll stand.” The Rider's astute eyes focused back on him. “The money.” It was not a question.

Unperturbed, Stark nodded and plopped down in his own leather chair behind the desk. He opened one of the drawers, which had the man opposite of him instantly going for his gun. Tony glimpsed up. “Hold yer horses, I ain't plannin somethin shady.” “That peacemaker in your drawer begs to differ.” Incredulous, Tony glanced from him down to where the Colt was hidden in the back of the drawer.

“... how did you...?”

“Occupational hazard.”

It was said without humor but elicited a chuckle from Tony nonetheless. He kept his right hand up, palm towards the Black Rider, and grabbed the little velvet pouch with his left. It made a soft jingling sound as he dropped it onto the table and pushed the drawer back shut with a creak. “Guys like me need to have an ace in the hole. My old man used to live by that philosophy. Peace means havin the bigger stick 'n all that.”

He then fished out a couple of gold coins which he threw across the table. The Black Rider inspected the two double eagles and the eagle before raising them to his mouth. “What happened to him?” Tony leaned back and watched him bite into the coins one by one. “Died in a stagecoach robbery together with my mother when I wasn't even 18 years old.” The Rider gave a small snort. “So much for that philosophy.”

The money disappeared in his pocket.

"You got yourself a deal. My workin' hours are from dusk till dawn. Ya want more, ya pony up."

Before Tony had time to nod, the first of many bullets to come shattered the windows and peppered the wall of the office. Wooden splinters, shreds, and broken pieces of furniture rained down onto the floor. Tony found himself pressed up flat upon the ground of his office, wedged between window and desk. A gloved hand was pushing at the back of his head, and he inhaled a mouthful of dust.

“Stay here!”

While Tony reached for the gun in his drawer, the Black Rider was up on his feet as soon as the shooting had faded out. He drew his gun and was out of the shattered window with a jump. Heart beating fast and hard against his ribcage, the inventor pressed himself against the back of his table, gun cocked and ready to shoot in case of any intruders. Outside, far away gunshots could be heard.

Somewhere, a couple of dogs started to bark, followed by hollering of some male and female voices. Tony did not know how long he sat there, revolver pointed at the window front until he felt a stinging pain in his left palm. A couple of glass shards had cut up the skin there, and he wiped it against his leg. From where the curtains flowed out into the night through the glass-less window, shadows loomed up.

Tony swallowed and raised the gun, only to lower it when he recognized the Black Rider in front of his office.

“They've split up and sold out. I counted three.”

“Why ya let them shin out?”

“I'm not raisin sand for some lickspittles. Let em head back and tell their boss.”

Shaken but unhurt for the most part, Tony got to his feet and brushed the dirt off his pants. He then threw the little velvet pouch into the Rider's direction, and the man caught it with cat-like reflex. An unspoken question lingered in his eyes, to which Stark drew a lopsided smirk.

“I now deem it necessary to keep ya 'round 24/7.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blatherskite - A blustering, noisy, talkative fellow  
> Banded - Hungry  
> Chow - Food, dinner  
> Black water or cow juice - Weak coffee or milk  
> Croaker - Pessimist, doomsayer  
> Chink - Money  
> Landed - A person who has amassed a fortune large enough to keep him for the rest of his life  
> Get one's back up - To get angry  
> Cut Up - To criticize with severity  
> Peacemaker - A Colt revolver  
> Ace in the Hole - A hideout or a hidden gun  
> Pony Up - Pay over money  
> Sell Out - Leave quick  
> Shin Out - Run away  
> Raise Sand - Start trouble  
> Lickspittle - A mean parasite, one who will stoop to any dirty work
> 
> source: http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-slang.html


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual, translations for the Western lingo at the end

Marshall Steve Rogers was not happy about the recent turn of events. Seeing he could not do anything against the Black Rider because his jurisdiction was bound to the town, he made his Deputy Marshal Clint Barton start inquiring for some latitude in pursuing outlaws outside the city limits. When he presented his efforts to his good friend Anthony Stark, the latter was less than pleased.

“What's with all that bellyache, Marshall? I just made the bettermost deal there is.”

Rogers shifted his weight and put one foot up on the porch of Tony's office. His silvery badge flashed in the sunlight. “That Black Rider is among the willows as you probably know.” Tony made a tutting sound. “Don't get your dander up, he's also the one who was savin my bacon last night.” For emphasis, he crooked a finger and motioned for the Marshall to follow him.

At the sight of bullet holes and missing window panes in the back of Stark's office, Steve frowned. “What do you mean? What happened?” Tony snorted with disgust. “There were three of them, trying to bed me down last night. Bushwack. The Rider took care of 'em.” Pushing his white Stetson up higher with two fingers, Steve turned to inspect the crime scene from close up.

After a few minutes, he looked at his friend again, with an unveiled air of disapproval in his eyes. “You should have come to me. I'm telling you, Anthony, you got the wrong pig by the tail with him.” Instead of an answer, Tony purposely craned his neck as he heard the front door of his office creak. The tall, dark figure of the very man they had been speaking about loomed in the back.

He wore no bandana, but his hat drawn deep into his eyes. A gust of wind wafted around him, billowing his long coat and exposing the outline of a Spencer repeating rifle next to his right thigh. Even if he stayed silent, Tony nodded at the unspoken question lingering in the air and motioned for him to get back inside. Once he was out of sight, Stark cast Rogers a knowing glance. “Remains to be seen.”

The Marshall narrowed blue eyes and looked at the spot the vigilante had vacated.  
“Him and his seven-shooter won't do a thing to protect you – he's a high binder, trust me.”  
Straightening up, Tony huffed out loud and slapped a hand on his shoulder in passing.

“Hold yer horses, Steve, I know what I'm doin.”

* * *

Tony walked back inside to find his wary guard behind the curtains, peeking out at the broad form of the Marshall high up on his horse as he rode off. “Men like him think they can screw me over. I ain't working with his kind.” He emphasized his disdain by spitting out of the open window. It prompted Tony to give a lopsided smirk as he walked over to procure a coffee pot and two mugs.

“Easy on the dramatics, Rider, no room for you in the crowbar hotel alright. Steve's a good chap, but he's still the Marshall at the end of the day, who's bound by lotsa laws and stuff.” Tony poured them both a generous cup and motioned at a chair. The other man accepted the coffee with a curt nod but remained standing. So far, he had never taken a seat at Tony's place, despite the many times it was offered.

The wealthy businessman leaned back, nursed his own coffee, and watched his guard walk from one window to the other. “Speaking of a hotel, I can have Happy arrange some better lodging for you.” Not meeting his gaze, the Black Rider kept his eyes out on the bustling main street. “No need.” The Gothamite had taken up a sparse chamber right under the roof, and Tony had neither seen, nor heard him during the rest of the night.

Still, he himself had slept like a log, despite the events a few hours earlier.

Once Happy arrived with the newspaper under his arm and learned about the tumult of the previous night, he was shocked to find his employer so utterly composed. “Everything's fine, Hap, really now. Go and get someone to repair the wall and the windows, will ya?” As Hogan went to do as he was told, he all but waltzed into the Black Rider who had chosen to make himself scarce during the assistant's meeting with Stark.

Bumping into the door frame, Happy tried to suck his stomach in as the taller man passed him by, though not without exchanging sullen once-overs. As soon as Hogan was gone, the Black Rider uncrossed his arms. “I want you to show me the places you work at outside your office.” The succinct voice caused Tony to raise an eyebrow. “What's that going to achieve?” Two sharp, hazel eyes fixated him, full of silent petulance.

“The more I know about your business, the sooner I get behind your potential aggressors.” Meeting his moody retort with an all-enthusiastic smile, Tony slapped his thighs and stood up. He fetched a black bowler hat from a coat rack and slipped in on with a nimble little flip of a wrist.  
  
“Then let's get goin.”

* * *

Donald Blake, the town's blacksmith, waved a meaty hand at them as they passed by his store. Tony waved back, clasped his suspenders and hooked his thumbs into them. “He's been havin a blast ever since the construction of the Pacific railroad. Guy hardly ever gets out of his shop anymore.” The Black Rider regarded the blacksmith with his long, blonde hair and huge, bare upper arms as he resumed wielding his forging hammer.

“How so?”

Tony freed one of his hands to make a widespread gesture. “Most of the supplies and equipment used to be shipped from the East. It typically takes three to seven months for all shipments to arrive, so I made a deal with the county government and purchased one of the Eastern railroad company at foreclosure.” Tony looked smug, to which the Black Rider frowned. “To achieve what?”

“To work on a branch line that provides a shorter route from Sacramento to San Francisco Bay than the Western Pacific line. Plus, we now have a lot of parts manufactured on site. Saves time, money, and makes an even greater profit 'cause I can use my own iron mines. And Donald's been lovin all the extra work.”

Unfazed by all the blatant self-gushing on Tony's part, the Black Rider kept his fast stride and his eyes scanning their surroundings left and right. “What's the name of the company you've bought?” A little out of breath from boasting and having to take two steps where his company took one, Tony puffed. “Hammer Railroad.” They walked on, passing by saloons, barber shops, and the post office until they reached the city limits.

“Where's the current construction site?”

“A little before San Pedro, about 21 miles away.”

The Gothamite squinted at the wasteland that spread out in front of them.

“I want to look at it.”

“Now?”

Instead of an answer, the Black Rider turned on his heel.

“We'll leave tomorrow at sunrise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellyache - Complain  
> Bettermost - The best  
> Among the Willows - Dodging the law  
> Dander - Emotion, anger  
> To save one's bacon - To save one’s self from injury  
> To bed someone down - To kill someone  
> Bushwhack - A cowardly attack or ambush  
> Get The Wrong Pig By The Tail - To make a mistake in selecting a person for any purpose  
> High Binder - A dangerous and vicious man  
> Crowbar Hotel - Jail
> 
> source: http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-slang.html


	4. Chapter 4

Yawning, Tony cast a glance out to where rain pelted onto the still dark main street, drenching the scene into a big muddy river. “What a mighty grist of rain.” A quiet voice from behind startled him. “The mine's are gonna be flooded.” Stark had to watch out not to drop the cup from his almost flailing hands. “Geeswax! D'you have to do that?”

“What?”

“Sneak up on me, ding it.”

Tony bristled some more, which provoked no further reaction from his dark-clad company. The Black Rider cast a brief glance outside, then began to fasten a holster and the belt under his coat. “How many of your mines are on the way to San Pedro?” Gulping down the rest of his coffee, Tony put the mug aside. “Just one, but it's become one of the biggest here in the area.”  
  
Before Tony could follow him out to the stable, the Rider stopped him with a gloved hand held up and pointed at the desk.  
  
“Bring yer gun.”

“Always the leery one, eh?”

* * *

Tony had forgotten just how tall and intimidating the Rider's black horse was. It loomed up several inches above his own American Quarter Horse. When he proceeded to get closer to open the stable door, the powerful black thoroughbred gave a loud, high-pitched whinny and started bucking. “Whoa, Nellie! That's a mean widow maker you've got right there.”  
  
Undeterred, the Rider walked past him, saddled up, and sat upright with an elegant, fast motion.  
“She's rather selective.”  
Stark also mounted his horse and ran a gentle hand along its chestnut neck.  
  
“Like you, you mean?”  
The Black Rider flipped the collar of his long coat up and pulled his hat deep into his face.  
“Move.”  
  
He gave a low, clicking sound of his tongue, to which his horse began to trot through the rain. Anthony Stark had no choice but to comply. Under a heavy downpour, the two of them then set off, way before the town and its people could start to become awake. Soon enough, they were far out in the endless badlands which surrounded Los Angeles, galloping through narrow valleys and past overflowing creeks.

They made good time despite the ghastly weather when the big black mare of the Rider put its ears back and neighed in a low way. Its owner narrowed his eyes, petted the side of her head, and strained to see ahead. Tony's horse also began to scrape its hooves on the spot. Neither man knew a waterlogged mountain had just given way somewhere north and released a wall of debris, water, and mud barreling through the canyon.

Their horses, upon sensing the impending danger, however, became anxious, and Tony got irritated at the sudden change in behavior. "Gosh all Friday, what's wrong with ya, J?” Tony pulled the reins of his stallion, but then a thunderous noise that sounded like a thousand cannons going off at once filled their ears. The mud avalanche was on them in an instant, and Tony's horse bucked.

Before he could fall off its back, the Rider reached out and grabbed a fistful of his jacket. The black mare stood unwavering in the muddied waters that sloshed around her legs, and Tony found himself yanked over, to land in an undignified position on his stomach across the horse's back. The Black Rider pressed his heels into her sides, and she dashed onward, uncaring about the added weight.

They managed to escape the brunt of the mudslide by heading onto a mountain ledge and watched the mud cascade down the hillside. Its angry wake carried trees and other debris down the valley, pushing boulders out of the way, until it fanned out somewhere below, out of their line of vision. Tony wiggled until he was able to slide off of the horse's back, but kept on steadying himself on its flank.  
  
The Rider's mouth morphed into a disdained curl, but Tony held up a hand. “Hold on.” His eyes began to scan the reddish-brown concoction at their feet, searching for anything in the roaring mess. “It likely drowned in the slide.” The Rider's words were emotionless, and Tony clamped his mouth shut. He was not sentimental about horses, but Jarvis had been with him for the past five years.  
  
Undeterred, the other man nudged him with a knee. “Get back up. We got to find a dry place where we can stay the night.” Blinking up from underneath a thick layer of mud and rain, Tony's eyes blazed like two charcoals, eying the Gothamite high up on his horse. After his first try to swing his leg over the other side failed, he snarled. “You just had to get the tallest mare of the whole West, didntcha. Compensating much?”

The Black Rider pulled at the waistband of his pants to assist his second try. “Not my fault yer ain’t even knee-high to a lamb.” Furious, Tony swung around, meeting two equally peeved eyes. “Oh, hobble ya lip will ya.” With the saddle poking into his tailbone, Tony pressed his thighs against the mare and tried to stay upright. The Rider wrung out the lower part of his sodden coat and blinked through the falling rain.

Thunder rumbled over their heads, and he set the horse into motion, careful to stay parallel to the never-ending stream of mud that hurled past them. They trudged on at a slow pace, feeling the cold seep through their drenched clothes. Little puffs of breath were visible in the misty air, and Tony fell into some kind of survival mode trance until the Rider pulled his horse to a stop.  
  
Peeking up from underneath sodden dark locks, Tony followed the outstretched arm of his guard.

“That small alcove over there.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geeswax - mild expletive for Jesus  
> ding it - damn it  
> grist - a quantity or bunch  
> widow maker - a very bad or "outlaw" horse  
> Gosh all Friday - A euphemism for 'God Almighty'  
> knee-high to a... - humorous description of short stature or youth  
> hobble your lip - shut up
> 
> sources:  
> http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-slang.html  
> http://buddiesinthesaddle.blogspot.de/2013/08/old-west-cuss-words.html


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait! Some corny Western lingo, as always, at the end

By the time the Black Rider came back from after taking care of his horse which had to remain outside, Tony sat with his knees drawn up close to his body and glared into the dark. Outside, the tempest still raged on undeterred, but the concave indentation was several feet above the ground, minimizing the risk of overflowing during the night. He then watched the Rider drop two sodden saddlebags into the corner.

In the dark, most items remained unrecognizable to him, but after the Gothamite had rummaged around in the back of the cave, he soon was able to produce a small fire. Tony's eyes adapted to the small source of light and he saw the tinderbox the Rider had used. Next to it was some food, cordage made from leather, a small blanket roll, and some spare ammunition.

Stark gave a small whistle and reached into the pocket of his wet jacket, producing a gleaming silver flask. “Looks like you could survive lotsa calamities.” The Rider grunted. “Preparation is key.” He moved to gather some dried up leaves and twigs out of the corners of the cave and placed them next to the fire for later use. “Preparation, eh? Some talk. Who in their right mind would'a gone out a' this weather?!”  
  
Tony was miffed and sad at the loss of his most faithful horse, lamenting along in between taking long gulps. The Rider scowled. “Because no one likely followed us in this weather, what a stupid question. Stop that.” Stark cradled the flask close to his chest. “I'm not feelin blue yet, lemme drink.” They glared at each other for a few moments until the Gothamite's eyes narrowed to slits. “Go get yourself barrel fever, as if I care.”

From his place on the other side of the fireplace, Tony snorted. “I know yer don't care. Nobody cares. F'real.” He then turned around and graced the Rider with his backside. “What a bunch of bosh. I already saved yer ass two times in the past couple of days.” Tony looked over his shoulder at the man who was openly glowering at him. “Yer did, but jus' cause I pay ya. Everybody always just wants my money.”

“Maybe you shouldn't go around and flaunt it so much then.”

“Maybe you don't know Jack about people like me who made this country big?"

“Maybe you just shut your flannel-mouth and we'll be good.”

“Ornery sonofa...”  
A revolver was up in his face in an instant, gleaming in the fire. Hazel eyes blazed with fury.  
“Don't ever go there.”

Much to the Rider's surprise, Stark broke into a hysterical laughing fit at that. "Put that blue lightin' 'way, I ain't yer fiend." Shaking his head to himself, Tony rolled onto his back and held his flask up high into the air. “Rather come 'n bend an elbow with me.” The Black Rider chose to ignore his invitation and began to unbutton his coat. “We gotta get out of those clothes. They are better off drying on the floor.”

He began to undress as he spoke, leaving Tony to watch him strip down to his flannel shirt and drawers. A low whistle echoed through the cave. “In all my born days, I never saw a man so handsome." Tony took another swig of his flask. “If ya were a lady, I'd be long since callin' ya.” The Rider smirked the tiniest smirk, his profile illuminated by flickering flames. “Sorry to disappoint.” In an unsteady motion, Tony waved him off.

“No reason t'be. I still mean it.”  
The younger man's jaw worked. Eventually, he took the silver bottle from Tony's hand.  
“Taffy won't get you anywhere.”  
  
Eyes wide, Tony watched him take a sip before he busied himself shedding his boots. He shook his head and pulled the left one off with a wet plopping sound. “Got 'nough cow sense not t'try anyhow.” The Black Rider watched him repeat the gesture with his other boot. “Try what?” Once he was in an outfit similar to that of the other man, Stark plopped back down next to him and folded his legs until they covered his clammy feet. 

Taking the flask into his possession again, Tony emptied it in one go with his head tipped back.  
He then wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and pursed his lips.  
“T'kiss ya.”  
  
The Gothamite's eyes narrowed.  
“You're as crazy as a loon.”  
“Mebbe, yeah.”

Stark's voice was well slurred by that time and they did not converse any more after that.  
The Black Rider sat and inspected his water-stained guns, one eye always out on the prairie.  
At some point, Tony fell asleep to the sound of fire crackling and the rain outside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barrel Fever - A hangover  
> Bosh - Nonsense  
> Flannel Mouth - An overly smooth or fancy talker  
> Blue Lightnin' - A six-gun  
> Bend an Elbow - Have a drink  
> Callin' - Courting  
> Taffy - Flattery  
> Cow Sense - Intelligence  
> Crazy as a Loon - Very crazy  
> source: http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-slang.html


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No April Fools' joke here, only some western lingo at the bottom of the page.

When daylight was about to break, the Black Rider was the first to rise. His sleep had been light as always, in case of peril, but he could not remember the moment the other man had closed up and spooned behind him. They were laying next to the died-down fireplace, blanket too small to fully cover them both. Stark snored into his neck, breath warm against his skin, so the Gothamite twisted out of his grip with agile moves.

The industrialist smacked his lips and mumbled something but stayed asleep. The Black Rider threw the blanket over him and went to inspect their spread out clothes. His coat, shirt, and pants had dried up during the night and he put them back on. Ever so often, his eyes slid over to the curled up heap under the blanket.

When he came back from examining the state of his horse and the current weather conditions, the other man was still asleep, a mop of curly hair poking out. “Get up.” His voice echoed within the alcove. No reaction, so he lightly poked the blanket with the tip of his boot and repeated his request, a little more irritated that time. “Hngh.” Bleary-eyed, Tony sat up, hair a wild mess sticking in various directions. “Whassamatter?”

The Rider hoisted up a saddlebag. “The rain has stopped. We should be able to make it to the construction site in good time. Bring the rest.” He then turned and left without another word. Stark stumbled outside several minutes later, dressed haphazardly and carrying a bundle in his arms he all but threw at the other man. “Gotta take a leak.”  
  
The ground was still slippery due to the downpour, but Tony was able to trudge through the mud and over to where the Rider was waiting for him to get up on his horse. All around, the destruction by the severe thunderstorm was evident, and the Rider led his horse through the uneven terrain with utmost circumspection. Tony pointed along the vast prairie. “There she'll be. My iron horse.”

There was pride in his voice. Reins pulled in, the Rider followed the arc his arm described with his eyes. “Where's the current assembly point?” Tony craned his neck to be able to look around the Gothamite's broad back. “You mean the material and everything? Over the hill and to the left.”

* * *

As expected, the site lay empty after the recent torrent and the early time of the day. Regarding the Rider's hunkered down form for the longest time, Tony eventually sauntered closer, a piece of spear grass jammed in between his teeth. The man's long fingers were tracing something along the many lined up piles of steel, and Tony's interest was piqued. “Whatcha lookin at there? Got something?”

“Get out of the way.”  
  
At the gruff, barked-out command, Tony's eyes narrowed. “Why you cross-patch, don't forget whom yer workin for!” The Black Rider rose to his feet and flickered his coat back with an airy gesture. “Exactly. And if I have a look-see around the site, I'd rather not have your footprints all over.” Sullen, Tony leaned against a nearby barrel and pretended to fake great indifference until a black coat billowed past him. “We're done here.”

Stark spit out a chewed-down piece of grass and glimpsed from a fleeting Rider over to the construction site and back. “Where we goin?” The Black Rider craned his neck to look at him, mid-stride. “I'll get you home, then I got a trail to follow.” Too perplex to protest, Tony did as he was told, resuming his place behind the other man in the saddle. The Rider pressed his heels into the horse's sides to which it obediently began to trot.

“So you think there's somethin' goin on?” When he thought he would not get an answer, Tony was surprised at the soft voice. “Someone's after you with a sharp stick. The rails have been tampered with. Traces of nitroglycerin. If it had not been for the storm, the site would've been a mess.” Pale-faced, Tony listened on, a queasy feeling in his stomach. Before he found his voice again, the Black Rider continued to speak undeterred.

“I want you to stay at home for the upcoming time. Always pack iron and have someone 'round you can trust.”

Out of instinct, Tony's arms wound tighter around his midriff. “Train up then, I can manage.” The Rider gave a sharp command and the thoroughbred moved into a gallop. By the time they made it back to the city of Los Angeles, Happy Hogan awaited them with impatience. “Dang it, bossman, yer been gone the whole night! Some real bad storm out there, I thought you'd be buzzard food by now!”

Tony put up a haughty expression and an index finger. “Nah, Hapster, ya gotta think smart here – we had to go because no one likely followed us in that weather.” The Black Rider gave a quiet harrumph but remained quiet. Hogan bobbed his head in consent. “Fair nuff. Found out anythin?” Tony's face darkened. “Looks like there's some sorta sabotage act goin on. They were about to blast the whole site.”

His assistant gaped at him in shock. “Who? Who'd do that?” Hogan rubbed his meaty chin and threw the black-clad man in their middle a thoughtful glimpse. The Black Rider's eyebrow quirked, but he said nothing. It was Tony who dared to speak his mind. “My bet's on Hammer. Someone who's got nuff chink to get his hands on so many crates of nitroglycerin...” Happy tsked to himself and shook his head.

“He's got some nasty sonsabitches among his men f'sure. Always lookin for a way to wreck the town, killing at random. No use talkin unless you plannin on going through em." His beady eyes came to rest on the stranger in their midst again. "Yer think yer ready for that kinda squabble, Bounty Hunter?” The Rider tipped his hat up with two fingers and narrowed his eyes at Hogan's stout physique. “I ain't a bounty hunter, ya lubber.”

They were back at glaring each other. Tony waved his personal assistant off and followed the Gothamite's over to where his horse awaited him.

“One more thing.”  
The Black Rider stopped untying his scarf and turned to look at him.  
“Does my noble savior have a real name as well?”

Their gazes stayed locked for several heartbeats.  
The younger man eventually gave a sparse, brief smile before pulling the bandana over his nose.  
“Bruce.”

Eyes following the fast, black physique riding out of town, Anthony put his arms akimbo. His assistant reappeared by his side and shot him a look that spoke volumes at the admiration in his glance. Stark shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “What can I say? Think he's really someone to ride the river with, Hap.” Hogan gaped from him over to the small dot on the horizon and back.  
  
“So you're... soft down on him bossman, or what?”  
Tony's dark-brown eyes gleamed with fierce determination.  
“Sure as a gun. Shut yer big bazoo there, that's confidential info alright.”  
  
He motioned for his companion to follow him back into his office. As he sat down with a small grunt, Tony rubbed his face before he reached out and slipped the Colt back into its place. He took a blank piece of stationery out and began scribbling something down. Hogan shifted on his feet and regarded his employer until Tony had folded and slipped the letter into an envelope.

“I need ya to do me a favor, Hap. Tryna get a hold of Sheriff Gordon for me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iron horse- railroad train  
> cross-patch - an ill-tempered person  
> look-see - to investigate  
> to be after sb. with a sharp stick - determined to have satisfaction/revenge  
> to pack iron - to carry a revolver/shooting iron  
> train up - hurry  
> buzzard food - dead  
> squabble - fight  
> lubber - a sturdy man / idle, fat, bulky fellow  
> so. to ride the river with - a person to be counted on/ reliable; got it where it counts  
> soft down on - in love with  
> Sure as a gun - absolutely certain  
> big bazoo - big mouth
> 
> Many thanks as always to  
> http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-slang.html


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No superfluous western lingo for once, enjoy it while it lasts!

He pulled on the reins, absentmindedly patted the horse's thick neck, and examined the valley below.

The Black Rider had been following the track from the construction site over to the Stark Steel mine. His pursue had taken him two whole days of riding nonstop without food and water, but it had paid off. Down in the valley, the Black Rider counted ten silhouettes moving out and about the mine's entrance. A stagecoach stood nearby, apparently being filled with crates or boxes, he was not sure.

When the shadows of the approaching dusk were long enough for him to move around unseen, he went in. After he had pistol-whipped and disarmed two henchmen keeping watch, Bruce glimpsed into the open stagecoach. He probed the muzzle of his Spencer rifle against an askew wooden top to look inside.

With a small piece of its contents stored away in the breast pocket of his flannel shirt, the Rider hid back in the shadows as footsteps from inside the mine approached. “One more t'come, Mister.” The man who had been addressed gave an uninterested nod. “Where's Billy and Jimmy?”

“Dunno Mister Hammer, they've been back there, standing watch.”  
It was that moment that the Black Rider made his move.  
“Throw up your hands!”

When three men drew and cocked their six-shooters, he felled two of them in an instant with two shots that went off with no time in between. Bruce then ducked back into the shadows as shouting erupted. He did not have time to reload his rifle, so he went for his trusted revolver instead.

A few shots rang out, missing his hideout by a good few yards. It allowed him to play out his hide and seek game to shoot another two goons to which some kind of panic around the site erupted. “It's a trap!” The man called Hammer had retreated to a safe place inside the mine, much to Bruce's irritation. He kept on yelling out instructions at his remaining henchmen, so the Black Rider saw no choice but to try and lure him out.

Bruce crawled back over to where the stagecoach stood, its horses whinnying at an impending fear. A massive blow then shook the front wheel of the stagecoach. One of the horses jumped to the side, frightened by the sudden commotion, and ripped off its reins. Bruce followed the horse's movement to hide behind it and fire over its back. “Yer a long ways from home, ain't'cha?"

Hammer's sugary voice echoed through the night, bouncing off the walls of the valley. Bruce was able to make out his location and used his animal shield as he inched forward. Another powerful shot rang through the night and the horse dropped down, dead at Bruce's feet. “Should've stayed at home, ma boy. Lotsa snakes out here.” In the desert moonlight, the Rider saw the flash of a shotgun as Hammer bared a bad set of teeth.

“And the deadliest of them's me.”

* * *

A faraway neighing woke Tony from his light slumber. Grabbing his revolver, he peeked around the curtain of his bedroom. The dim light of the flickering gas lamps outside cast shadows upon a tall, dark horse in front of his mansion. The animal kept pawing the ground, and Tony was able to make out an unmoving heap in the saddle. His heart began to race as he stormed downstairs, barefooted.  
  
“Bruce!”  
  
No answer from the man who lay slumped forward, head pressed into the horse's thick mane. Tony put his revolver into the waistband of his pajama pants and made a move to loosen Bruce's booted feet out of the stirrups. The animal held still, allowing Tony to ease down the unconscious man from its back. “Bruce – hey, can you hear me?” His fingers fumbled underneath the black bandana for a pulse.

When the found one, they came away sticky, wet, and stained crimson.

“Damn it to hell!” At the hissed-out curse, the Gothamite stirred in Tony's grip. Two hazel eyes blinked open with difficulty. “... at th' mine... - shot four o'them.” Concerned, Tony shook his head. “Shhh, don't speak now. I gotta get you inside and patch you up. Slow and easy...” In the doorway, the bulky figure of Happy Hogan appeared, holding an oil lamp up to see into the dark. "Bossman, what....?"

Stark scrambled back onto one knee and cast his assistant a frantic look. "Happy! C'mere! Help me!" Together, they managed to carry Bruce inside and into what he hoped was a comfortable position in Tony's bed. His blue-gray striped pajamas were stained red, so Tony threw a frock over them and stumbled into his boots. “I'll go get Doc Pennyworth. He'll know what to do. Served in the Civil War as a medic.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

Tony rode as fast as his horse allowed him to, and was back by Bruce's side twenty minutes later. A white-haired elderly with a bowler hat and a brown bag hurried in behind him. He pushed the spectacles higher upon his nose, took a seat at the bedside and started to examine his patient. To the anxious eyes of Tony and a squirming Happy Hogan, the doctor then presented his diagnosis.

“He took six rounds. Half of them winged him, three of them are still lodged in his back.” Pennyworth then rolled his sleeves up. “I need to dig 'em out. Help me turn him onto his side.” Hogan was glad to be sent off to produce a bowl of water, clean pieces of fabric and a bottle of bourbon. The remains of Bruce's shirt were quickly ripped apart and Tony very well saw the brief look of concern on the doctor's face.

Pennyworth reached for his kit of tools and produced a pair of forceps. “10 gauge cut-down shotgun, double-barreled. Only one man who's in possession of that type 'round here.” A look of intense concentration was on the physician's face as he deposited two slugs into a metal tray. Tony knelt in front of Bruce's sweating, pale face with its eyes squeezed shut and allowed him to hold and mangle his hand while the doctor worked without real anesthetics.

“More whiskey.”  
As Tony handed the bottle over, Pennyworth wet a piece of fabric before he pointed at Bruce.  
“Give him some. Last one is going to hurt a lot more because it dragged in pieces of fabric.”

With gentle fingers, Tony slipped an arm into the back of Bruce's neck and raised the bottle to his lips. Most of the whiskey dribbled down his chin and soaked into the mattress, but from the way his mouth began to move, Bruce at least got a few sips in. After two arduous hours, a continuous suture made from catgut adorned the back of the Black Rider. He was still breathing shallowly, but at least had stopped breaking Tony's fingers.

Doc Pennyworth rose to his feet with a tired grunt and snapped his bag shut.

“I will be over again in the morning. Make sure he does not turn on his back for the rest of the night.”

“Thank you, Doc. I owe ya.”  
A tip to the bowler hat.  
“No worries, sonny. All I can do is to assist nature.”

* * *

When Tony re-entered the hot and sticky bedroom, Bruce's eyes were open but glassy.  
“... d's'n'fect.”  
Not understanding him, Stark hunkered down.  
  
“Say again?”  
“Wounds...not.. inf'ction.”  
Tony then understood his concern.

“The Doc used whiskey but I'll go boil some more water.”

When he returned, Bruce was out cold again, looking more like a tuckered out boy than a gunslinger.

Tony's heart ached with worry and a feeling he rather not wanted to dwell on. Instead, he was quick to give the fresh wounds another careful rub down with warm water, before he rid himself of his clothes. The Gothamite did not wake as Tony slipped in behind him and leaned in close to keep him propped up on his side. Hours later, Tony woke with a start when something warm and wet moved in his arms.

The smell of blood and sweat clung to his nostrils, and he shifted with care to be able to peek down.

“Bruce?”

“Ngh.”

Extracting a hand, Tony reached out to touch the back of his fingers against Bruce's forehead. It was warm, but not hot to the touch. “How are you feeling?” The younger man tried to shift out of his close proximity but stopped with a muffled groan when it prompted the pain in his whole body to flare up. “L'ke hell.”

“Fever's gone down it seems. I'm gonna ask the doc to come round to check up on ya earlier.”

Before he could go to do as he said, Tony was stopped by a feverish warm hand around his wrist.

“M...m'shirt.”

“What'cha need that one for now?”

Bruce's fingers pinched his skin as his brows furrowed in aggravation and pain.

“Front pocket... Go look.”

Bewildered, the other man reached down to pick up the tattered and blood-stained piece of cloth from the floor. With ginger fingers, Tony pulled out a small piece of rock and stared long and hard at it. “Is that...?” The Black Rider gave a slow nod.

“Silver. From yer mine.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has weird lingo again. See notes below.

The neighing horse of Marshall Rogers interrupted their conversation, so Tony went outside to greet him.

Steve's expression was stern as he tipped his hat in greeting. “Bad news, Anthony. Your Black Rider's been jimmying a bull back in Gotham City.” Tony scratched the side of his cheek and pulled a face. “Yeah, but in self-defense, and it was a corrupt one. I got word from Sheriff Gordon. Flask was a bad egg. Got it here word for word.” Marshall Rogers looked at him as if he was out of his mind.

“Where did cha get that? Gordon's a hard man to reach.” Tony lunged into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper he held out to the other man. While Steve's eyes skimmed along the few lines, his friend rocked on his heels, ready to take the letter back into his custody.

“Got my ways. And you better believe me when I say that Justin Hammer's been putting a spoke in my wheel, Marsh, so you should investigate in that one. Rider's lead poisoned four of his men. Their bodies are prolly vulture fodder soon if ya don't hurry.” Rogers' blue eyes widened in disbelief. “Four?” Tony nodded. “They've been raidin my mine. Hammer's still out there. Can you get the Deputy and check?”

Still incredulous, the Marshall pulled his Stetson down and cocked his head. “Their maxim is 'shoot for the guts'. The Rider can be lucky he's still alive.” Tony swallowed but said nothing. Steve finally handed him the letter from Sheriff Gordon back and clasped his shoulder in passing. “I look into it. As soon as I hear anything, I'll let you know.”

Once he had seen Marshall Rogers off, Tony stepped back up into his bedroom. His wayward patient was a bit more awake and sitting propped up in bed. “Yer s'pposed to rest, y'know?” Bruce's nose wrinkled in disgust. “Everything stinks like dead meat in here.” His benefactor rolled his eyes. “Yea, well, guess who's been illy, sweatin and bleedin all over and into my latty recently?”

Miffed, Bruce slung the cover aside to reveal a multitude of bandages with a slight pinkish stain in several spots. An involuntary gasp escaped his lips at his movement and he grasped for his side. “Gah, get back in there, yer mush-head!” Stubborn hazel eyes traveled up and narrowed in on him. "I wanna wash up.” With arms put akimbo, Tony watched him struggle to even sit upright. Eventually, Bruce had to give up.  
  
“Oh, for Lands Sakes!”  
  
His rebellious bout ended with a groan as he eased back into the stale pillow and pulled a face. “Good boy. If yer stay put a li'l while longer, Imma go fix ya a nice bath.” The smug grin of satisfaction on Tony's face remained even as Bruce contemplated his suggestion. “You'd better.” Before Stark had left the room, Wayne gave a gruff snort. “And if yer ever call me boy again, there'll be hell t'pay.”

Tony's amused eye roll remained unseen when Bruce soon fell asleep again.

* * *

It ultimately took six more days until Bruce was coherent and stable enough to leave the bed on his own. Before that, he had to endure being fed bowls of soup and stew to get his strength back. Happy Hogan, who had become responsible for feeding the cranky patient, turned out to be a little less grumpy towards him upon seeing the Gothamite finished all of his self-made dishes without complaint.

“That guy. Skinny as a pedlar's pony, but pecks like a freight train. Schruncher.”

It was said without true malice and prompted Tony to smile as his huffy assistant carried out yet another empty tray into the kitchen. “At least he's well enough to finally peel him outta those sheets. Burn them for me afterward, Hap, will ya? And then go buy new ones – soft and fancy. I am so sore after sleeping on the couch all those nights.” Hogan huffed on some more but did as he was told.

As soon as the house was empty, Tony set off to implement his plan.  
In less than half an hour, the large copper bathtub was filled to the brim with steaming water.  
He knocked, entered his bedroom, and grinned.

“Your bath awaits.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jimmying a bull = shooting a law officer  
> bad egg = bad person  
> lead poisoned = shot  
> illy = sick  
> latty = bed  
> mush-head = stupid fellow  
> Lands Snakes = a more socially acceptable alternative for "Lord's sake"  
> pedlar's pony = a walking stick  
> to peck = eat voraciously  
> Schruncher = one who eats greedily
> 
> source: http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-slang.html


	10. Chapter 10

They walked the distance over to the bathroom together, with Bruce negating any assistance and Tony hovering close by upon seeing him move far too stiff and sore. “I manage on my own.” Bruce's grumpy voice left no room to argue, so Tony raised both arms. “Yer need a scrape. I'll fetch soap.” When he returned, Bruce already sat inside the big copper bathtub. His arms were up on each side of the rim as water rippled around his chest.

From the looks of it, he had dipped his head under; hair dripping wet and brushed back to reveal facial features which were not hidden under a wild, scraggly beard. Scooting closer, Tony displayed a shaving brush and a bowl mug and began to lather up a thick foam. Bruce watched him dip a straight razor into a clear liquid with a strong, alcoholic smell. Hunkering down, Tony made an enticing motion with the brush.

“Allow me?”  
Eventually, the Gothamite raised his chin and leaned a little forward.  
“You're the first person who gets to come this close to me with a knife.”  
  
The foam smelled of wax and faint lavender, and Tony splayed it on very thoroughly. “What if I didn't have the knife?” His breath was warm on Bruce's cheek. Even as he spoke, his steady hand started to shave off patch after patch of ginger scruff in a regular rhythm, only pausing to shed the surplus of hair on a towel next to the tub. “There'd be no need to be this close to me then.”  
  
Another white, foamy strip came off, revealing rosy and soft skin underneath. “You sure?” Their breaths mingled, surrounded by the billowing steam of hot water. Tony then cleared his throat as he drew back and handed over a fresh towel to wipe the remains off. After he had put all utensils away, Stark opened a drawer to get a new piece of soap to give to his guest. Bruce's fingers were warm and wet.  
  
“Mind if I join in? Hot water's a rare commodity.”  
Hazel eyes looked him up and down.  
“Tub's big enough for two.”

Despite his usual confidence, Tony undressed behind a nearby room divider and returned with a towel around the waist he only shed the very last moment. Soapy water sloshed over the rim as he lowered himself into the tub with a languorous grunt. For a while, they just lay there and soaked, eyes half-lidded to watch for any unforeseen situations. Tony then splashed two handfuls of water onto his face and rubbed.

“Marshall's taken over the case as of now.” Bruce hummed but did not say anything. “So now that you're done working for me, let's talk caboodle here. I'm gonna be real honest and say that I'm kinda sweet on you, and wanna keep you here with me. All of this is included in the benefit of living in the Stark household. Regular baths and shaving sessions.” Bruce turned his head to look at the window in the opposite corner.

“Y'know I can't stay.”

Tony's mouth drooped into a crestfallen pout. His finger ran along the rim of the tub, eyes following the motion. “So you're giving me the mitten. Well, guess I got no choice but to accept that.” The water moved as Bruce's face was suddenly mere inches from his. “'T'aint what it is.” With those words, he leaned in and kissed him square on the lips, one of his palms cupping Tony's cheek.

After a while, Bruce drew back and sat down in his original spot. “I just have to take care of some things first.” Tony's large brown eyes were dark and swirling with many emotions as he regarded him. “If only we could, I'd want us to get hitched, spark.” He tried to make his voice sound casual, but Bruce saw the little flush of red on his throat. It had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.  
  
“Not possible.”  
His tone was gentle, and it prompted Tony to look at him, his usual mask of confidence back in place.  
“I'm Anthony Edward Stark. Anything's possible for me.”  
  
He averted his eyes as the piece of soap flew his way and splashed into the water.  
“Blatherskite.”  
It was said with affection.

* * *

Two days later, the wind had started to freshen, coming from the north, and their coats wafted in the dark of the not-quite sunrise. Bruce walked, the reins of his horse in one hand, over to where Tony stood, arms crossed. They stood side by side for a while until Bruce turned his head to look at his smaller companion. “Time to cut a path.” Tony acknowledged his groomed appearance with something between a snort and a huff.

“Yeah. Got 'cha money and made yer jack alright.”  
His words lacked true malice. Bruce refastened his hat against the harsh gusts of wind and smirked.  
“Gotta make sure to make my next stay worthwhile then.”

At his flippant tone, Tony's jaw locked in underlying anger. “Fish or cut bait, yer milestone monger.” Still smirking, the Black Rider leaned in without preamble and pressed his lips to Anthony's mouth. Red dust whirled around their legs as they stood, two silhouettes in the twilight of the approaching day, locked in an amorous embrace. When Bruce drew back, Tony slowly blinked his eyes back open.  
  
“Better go 'n miss me, Iron Man.”  
At the way Bruce flickered the tip of his tongue in one corner of his mouth, Tony's eyes narrowed.  
“Betcha sweet ass I'll come find ya if yer don't return, Rider Boy.”

 

_~EPILOG~_

  
Marshall Rogers cleared his throat as he approached him. Tony glimpsed over his shoulder and smiled.

“Howdy, Marshall.”

“Howdy, Tony. Have yer heard about the trial?”

Stark nodded, fingers hooked into his suspenders.

“Thanks to you and Deputy Barton, Hammer'll be cooling his heels in the pokey for a long time."

“And what about you?”

“Me? What about me?”

Marshall Rogers squinted at the sun-lit flatland.

“Do you... have plans to keep him at your beck and call?”

Tony's eyes followed the black dot that was getting smaller and smaller on the horizon.

“Nah.”

His mouth curved into a secretive, impish smirk.

_'Not until my goddamn Iron Horse goes all the way up to Gotham.'_

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more time, with feeling: 
> 
> scrape - shave  
> caboodle - the whole thing  
> sweet on - in love with  
> give the mitten - to turn down a man [...] or discard him  
> 'Taint - a corrupt abbreviation for 'it is not'  
> to get hitched - get married  
> spark - a lover/beau  
> blatherskite - blustering, talkative fellow  
> to cut a path - leave, go  
> make one's jack - to get what one aimed at  
> fish or cut bait - do it or quit talking about it  
> milestone monger - someone who likes to roam, a tramp  
> cooling one's heels - staying for a while  
> pokey - jail
> 
> source:  
> http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-slang.html
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
